Two Years Since
by maki0202
Summary: It's been two years that Tom has been arrested, tried, and carted off. She quit the bureau, and moved to Chicago in hopes of starting new and fresh. Then one day, she receives a fateful phone call. Liz/Ressler, of course.
1. Chapter 1

It's been two years.

Two years since Liz has worn the FBI badge. Two years since she's held a gun. Two years since Tom has been carted off, two years since Liz has seen his face.

It's taken two years, and it's finally become a bit easier for Liz to go through her day without the memories flooding in, paralyzing her emotions, filling her with grief beyond measure. How could she have not known? How could she have been so blind for so long? Her five year marriage to a man who took her for a fool, a victim. It was a sham of a marriage, conveniently used as a front, a safety. And she fell for it. She was the fool. Tom reduced her to an utter fool.

When not pushing out the memories, they came naturally to her, and she hated how even her mind was marred by this man. Liz still shudders at the memories of that day, the day that FBI arrested Tom. How they staked him out, meeting Gina at the corner café, in broad daylight. She was shocked at the audacity, like a harsh and arrogant slap to her face. They laughed giddily, and kissed between sips of coffee. Red had warned her, but she didn't listen to him. Liz needed to see it with her own eyes. Ressler was angry that she was there, but he knew that there's nothing he can do to remove her. But he kept a watchful eye over Liz, reading her face, ready to do whatever he needed to do.

The FBI swarmed in after an exchange of papers between Tom and Gina. When Liz walked into the scene, all she could see was Tom, in handcuffs. His face was all she cared to see. And Liz will never forget what she saw. When their eyes locked, she knew this was not the man she thought she knew, whom she thought she loved. There was a smirk, of harsh resistance. His eyes laughed at her, mocked her. Tom's eyes did not invite her in, wanting to explain away this grave misunderstanding. His eyes told a different tale, of haughtiness, indifference, and arrogance. It was at that moment that Tom spoke, "There she is, my loving wife. And the world's best detective." Then Ressler punched him, squarely on his face, powerfully knocking him off his feet. Tom sneered, "You know, they're gonna have to review that one." It was then that Ressler held Liz's shoulder and led her out of the café.

After the investigation and the trial, Liz had to retreat from the world she knew. She submitted her resignation papers at the bureau. She left all of her belongings in New York, and moved to a small apartment in Chicago. She didn't want to know anyone, or know anything. It was here that she had spent the last two years, her world consisting of a small market down the street, a daily jog to the town square, and weekly jaunt to the library. Somehow Red knew where she was, and he checked in almost every week. As much as she was initially irritated, she came to rather enjoy the weekly phone conversations with Red, who was characteristically careful and sensitive to her emotions. She thought her relationship with Red would cease once she's out of the bureau, but he had become quite a fatherly figure in her life.

. . . . .

Liz woke up from the bright sunlight seeping into her bedroom. 9:05 A.M. The brightness was a welcomed sight as the week has been blistering cold as Chicago was getting ready for a windy winter. Liz got up gingerly, and headed to the kitchen to make some coffee. It was then when the kitchen phone went off. It startled Liz as she has never received a phone call so early in the day. She mused, "Red is up before noon. Can't be." She gave a muted chuckle as she picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Elizabeth? Liz Keen?"

The voice was familiar. Can it be?

"Yes, this is Liz."

"Hello, Liz. This is Donald, umm, Donald Ressler."

The familiarity of this voice and this person overwhelmed Liz. She felt her knees buckling, her breath shortening. She put her hand over her heart to somehow quell its wild beating.

"Agent Ressler, how did you find me?"


	2. Chapter 2

Two Years Since

Chapter 2

"Come on, Liz, get it together."

Liz chided herself as she stepped off the L train in downtown Chicago. More than anything, she was feeling utterly annoyed at how she felt like a hapless teenager, completely out of her element, at the mercy of the unknown with nothing she can claim to control. She didn't realize how much she's been holed up in her tiny world as the bustling city encircled and intimidated Liz.

She pulled on her navy trench coat, clutching it tightly and feeling thankful that she owned this one nice piece of clothing. She shook her head, thinking about how absolutely exasperating it's been to decide on what to wear that morning. Nothing fitted right, and everything felt old and dated. "I need to go shopping," she reminded herself mercilessly. Then she caught herself, incredulous at the thought, "Shopping? Did I just say shopping? What is wrong with me." Liz quickened her pace, as if to escape from these thoughts, and headed toward Greenbrier Street.

Liz spotted the Sheraton Hotel, and the small café next to it. He said green roof, and indeed, it had green roof. Suddenly, Liz's breathing became shallow and she had to slow down her pace, almost to a crawl. She checked her watch, 12:56 P.M. She was on time, and Ressler would most certainly be there already. Liz didn't understand what she was feeling. Am I confused? Am I upset? Am I afraid? After years of profiling the nation's most notorious criminals, Liz could not understand why she was feeling this resistance, this hesitation. She was feeling nervous, even. It's like seeing an old co-worker, she told herself. Just catching up with an old friend, that's all.

Liz saw him sitting by the window, reading a newspaper with a steaming cup of coffee on the table. He looked incredibly the same, as if it was yesterday and not two years ago. But instead of fitted stifling suit, Ressler was wearing a navy sweater with grey slacks. It made him look relaxed and approachable, Liz thought. His hair was also not the tightly combed, but loose and playfully falling across his forehead. It was golden blond, as ever. Liz couldn't help but to think that she preferred Ressler in this relaxed get-up. He looked youthful, boyish. Definitely attractive.

"Liz!" Ressler called out, getting up from his chair. Shaken from her thoughts, Liz felt embarrassed that she was caught staring. "Come on, Liz, get it together," she scolded herself as she walked over to his table.

"Hello, Agent Ressler, it's good to see you." His eyes were blue, like piercing teal blue. Liz didn't understand why she blushed, and she hated herself for it.

"Please, you can call me Donald. Or Don. Just anything but that stodgy agent business." Ressler gave out a shy snicker. "What would you like to drink?" Ressler inquired while pulling out a chair for Liz.

"Coffee is fine. Thank you." Liz took off her trench coat, and even that Ressler helped to put on a spare chair. "Thank you, Donald." Why is this so awkward.

Donald sat down and called for the waitress. After ordering her a cup of coffee, as well as couple of pastries, Donald's eyes were once again on Liz. He was fidgeting with a sugar packet, but his eyes were intently looking into Liz's. He finally stammered, "It's been, ummm. It's been a long time. How are you?"

"I'm good. I'm actually good. It took a lot out of me, as you know. But it's been better, much better. Just time, and living here. I feel really good." Liz spoke carefully, afraid that she might be rambling. But she meant every one of those words. Without any pretense, Liz felt good about herself, her past, and her future.

Donald let out a warm smile, a sort of a release, a relief. "I'm really glad to hear that. You look good, Liz." His voice softened, his eyes tender. "You are a hard woman to find, by the way. It was absolutely impossible." Donald chuckled, "In the eyes of the FBI, it was as if you didn't exist."

"I was an FBI agent, after all. I know how to hide well." Liz returned that chuckle. And in that moment of shared laughter, over the soft sunlight seeping through the curtains, with the lingering aroma of coffee and Donald's cologne, Liz began to feel comfortable and at ease with herself. She sank comfortably onto her seat cushion, and felt almost playful with Donald. "How did you find me?"

"You wouldn't believe it. Red gave me your number."

"Red spoke to you, directly? Well, that's a first."

Donald let out a chuckle, with a hint of annoyance. "No, we didn't hear from him for two years, until last week when he called me to give me your number. I was surprised you kept in touch with him all this time."

"Yes, well, I don't know how that came about myself. I don't even know how he found out where I was."

"Do you feel safe with him?"

"Well, I do. Strange as this may be, I do feel safe with him. In hindsight, Red was the only one who knew the truth about Tom, and he gave me plenty of warnings. He tried to protect me, keep me safe. But it was me who rejected him."

"And now?"

"And now, I don't know. Do I trust him? No, not completely. But he's in my life, for reasons I can't understand. And he looks out for me, and in a small way, I find some comfort in that." Then it dawned on Liz. "Donald, did you come to Chicago to talk to me about Red? Is this part of your investigation?"

"No, Liz. I don't give a damn about Red. I came to see you." Donald's face turned to sharp grimace, and Liz immediately regretted it. "I'm sorry, I'm a bit out of practice relating with people," Liz offered sheepishly. Donald dropped the sugar packet and folded his hands. The two sat in silence for few moments, until Donald spoke.

"I came to see you, Liz. That is all."


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Thank you so much for all the reviews and interest in my story, it's truly been encouraging and inspiring. I am always looking into getting better at this, because I just love the characters so much (all respect pointed to Jon Bokenkamp *clap*clap*bow*whistle*). My utmost priority is to preserve all characters in their "character", in their thought process, personality, quirks, mannerisms, speech, etc.

This third chapter, I felt like it was more fluff than needs to be. I really hope I've preserved the integrity of the characters. Thanks for reading!

Two Years Since

Chapter 3

Donald held the door for Liz as they stepped out of the café, both squinting their eyes against the bright sunlight. A swirling gust of warm wind wafted around them, throwing Liz's auburn hair into a mild frenzy. Instinctively Liz turned towards Donald, and he placed his hand on her lower back to somehow stabilize her. Liz became instantly aware of his warm and strong hand, and felt she no longer had control over her body as it stiffened up. When was the last time another person has touched her? Other than Tom? Being touched reminded her of Tom, and she couldn't shut that out. Damn it.

"Is everything OK?" Donald peered into her eyes, his face so close that she can feel his steady breath.

"Yeah, you know, they don't call Chicago the windy city for nothing." We are back to the awkward, Liz contended with a low chuckle. "My hair's a mess."

As their eyes met, Donald took a shy step away from Liz, perhaps giving space if she needed it. "No, you look perfect, as always," he countered. Then quickly, "It's a beautiful day, isn't it? It's very warm for fall."

"Yes, it is. Very nice day."

Liz was acutely aware that they were still standing in front of the café, like couple of teenagers who didn't know what to do with themselves. Wait, did he just give me a compliment? What did he say?

"Liz, how do you get home from here?"

"I take the L train to Glen Oaks. It's just twenty minutes away."

"I'll walk you to the station," Donald offered. As he lightly touched her elbow to guide her down the street, Liz couldn't help but feel pleasantly quaint, cozy even. She wouldn't dare be weak and dependent, and prided herself for being self-reliant and sufficient. But this just felt nice. It felt nice to be taken care of, to be touched by someone she trusted, to feel safe because of someone. "Woah, slow down, Lizzie," she reminded herself. Just focus on not freaking out at the smallest things.

"When do you leave Chicago?" Liz needed to snap out of those thoughts.

"Tomorrow afternoon, actually." Donald responded with a slow smile. With that, he let go of his touch, and Liz was fully aware of the chill that filled his absence. He's starting to say good bye.

"Well, I have a whole day with nothing to do. I was just going to hang around the city, look around a bit. I haven't had an empty day for a long time. Do you…want to join me? I mean, if you don't have any plans, or…well, if you are free. It'd be nice to try out some beer pubs with someone, and not alone as it usually happens." Donald looked at Liz with sheepish embarrassment, and laughed heartily, more at himself if anything. Liz was caught quite off guard by his humorous self-awareness, and laughed alongside with endearment. Donald Ressler, laughing at himself. Liz felt quite taken by this.

After moments of laughter, Liz responded, "How could I say no to that pathetic cry for company? I will play tourist with you, Donald, consider yourself privileged. And beer sounds good just about now." Donald replied, "That's my girl. And yes, beer sounds really good." He smiled as he once again led her by the elbow.

. . . . .

"Well, this is me," Liz pointed at the brown stone apartment, at the bottom of the brick laid steps. The night has become quite chilly, and the dim lights can barely make out his face.

"Donald, I had a lot of fun today. Some of the beer pubs were really amazing, I didn't even know I lived so close to them. Being a hermit has its disadvantages." Donald chuckled with obvious amusement.

"Yeah, I had a really good time. Thank you for being an excellent company, I am privileged." Even in the darkness, Liz could make out his steely gaze. "Sometimes I just want to get away from being this agent tough guy, and do stuff that normal people do. You know, not worrying about getting shot at, get blown up or being choked. All that good stuff. I'd rather just sit on a barstool and drink some beer."

Liz gave a short laugh, "I know what you mean." I remember that life, she mused.

"Donald, would you like to come in? I might have a bottle of merlot." Liz didn't know how this happened, but the words were already out. She couldn't take them back. Right?

He did not hesitate, "Sure, yes to beer, yes to wine." Here we go. Liz added, "Just to let you know, I don't have much furniture. No couch, and only one chair for dining table. We may have to sit on the floor, if you don't mind." Why was she feeling nervous all of sudden? Will she feel better if he somehow backed out?

"On the floor, it is." And Donald started up the stairs.

. . . . .

Liz brought the bottle of merlot and couple of coffee mugs to Donald, who was already sitting on the floor. "When you said no furniture, you weren't kidding," he quipped. Liz's apartment of last two years was bare, at its truest sense. It was small, a very humble space. No couch, no T.V., no fancy anything. Just a one-person dining table, an old laptop, and a tiny green plant. The cheap red phone on the kitchen counter was her only connection to the outer world.

"I warned you. In fact, I debated for two weeks whether I should get that plant. It was a very difficult decision."

"I bet. Nothing else says domestic and fancy like a pot of plant." Donald is now joking with her. And she gave him the satisfaction by laughing along.

"And these coffee mugs are all I have."

Liz sat next to Donald as he opened the bottle of wine and poured into their mugs. "Men don't usually care about in what alcohol is served," he said with a twinkle in his eye.

Then simultaneously they took a big sip of the wine. "Not bad for the wine served in a coffee mug," Donald turned to Liz. "Yeah, not bad," she returned the gaze. They held their gaze for longer than comfortable, as if each was waiting for the other to break, each breath becoming deeper in anticipation. Liz wanted Donald to break, but she could no longer concentrate at that moment, of anything. But one thing, him. Donald leaned in to her, his deep breath soft against her face, his nose gently gliding against her nose. She felt her senses heightened in mixtures of exhilaration, fear, and loss of control. Liz closed her eyes as his lips were mere breath away.

"Liz, I should get going. It's late, and I'm going back to Washington tomorrow." Donald whispered, between his teeth. He looked as if he was trying to snap back his consciousness, or control his muddled mind. Liz opened her eyes, "Of course, you should get some rest."

Both got up from the floor quickly, and Liz led him to the door. Donald turned and offered his thanks for the wine. As he was walking out of the apartment, he turned again.

"Liz, you need to come back to the bureau."


	4. Chapter 4

Two Years Since

Chapter 4

Liz took a quick peek at the alarm clock before bringing her pillow down to her face, squeezing it in muffled frustration. 7:21 A.M. She stared at the ceiling, beige popcorn ceiling, and she detected some thin spider webs on the corner which she didn't care to dust. The bright sunlight was creeping in between the curtains, and Liz reluctantly got up from the bed and forcibly shut the curtains. Damn. All this is really irritating.

She flung onto the bed again, wide awake but seeking the shelter and solace of her tiny space. Liz hugged her pillow tight against her flannel pajamas and relented to the source of her tormented emotions. Donald Ressler. Last night, after the wine. Liz recounted sitting on the floor together, against the wall, and how his shoulder squeezed into hers as he leaned in carefully towards her, and her body felt like burning from that touch, her heart beating into frenzy. She remembered his eyes, soft and gentle, and so very careful and unsure. He left her eyes for a tiny moment to steal a look at her lips, and she blushed like a school girl at his eyes that told of guarded desire.

Liz thought about the day spent together, the stories and the laughter they shared over beer and hotdogs. Curiously neither of them brought up the subject of Reddington, but the often animated stories were of childhoods, dreams, and longings. And there was a lot of laughter. Donald Ressler, stripped from the tightly wounded machinery, was most unexpectedly and surprisingly charming, silly, and warm. He had a boyish smile that brightened his eyes, giving it a wicked twinkle that told of mysterious satisfaction that she was curious to find out more of. Liz wanted to know more about him. Liz missed him.

And the kiss. Well, almost the kiss. Liz couldn't deny the glaring truth; there was a big part of her that, in full abandon, wanted Donald to kiss her. Both of them were such coiled ball of caution, calculation, and intent. What would happen if they throw all that to the wind, and just let emotions take over? Liz turned over on the bed in frustration and said aloud, "And then what? What happens next?" Our lives are just on a different course, she assured herself. Nothing good can come out of it. He knows it, too.

With a full exhale, Liz turned to the alarm clock. 8:55 A.M. "I gotta get out of here," she forced her mind to focus. Liz decided to go for a jog and changed her clothing. After a quick splash of water on her face, she sauntered to the kitchen to grab a quick bite. Then as on cue, the phone went off. Liz stared at the phone, somewhat incredulous and bewildered, as if its ringing did not register. Can it be? Can it be Donald calling me before he leaves?

Liz quickly lunged at the phone. "Hello?"

"Hello, Elizabeth."

Liz closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her heart and her mind became two separate entities, each fighting and running. She no longer had any control over anything. Slow down, Lizzie, slow down.

"Red."

"That surely is me. And if I'm not mistaken, Lizzie, were you expecting someone else?"

"No, of course not. What is it, Red?"

"Well, we'll just bypass the greetings and all other pleasantries. I wanted to see if you would like to join me for breakfast."

"What are you talking about?"

"Breakfast. You know, the first meal of the day. Quite underrated, in my opinion."

Liz pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. What is this man talking about now?

"Lizzie, just open the door, will you darling?"

What? Liz slowly opened the door. And lo and behold, Reddington, in his navy coat and fedora, was standing with his hands folded and head tilted, his signature smug and satisfied smile intact. Oh son of a bitch.

"Well, it's just been too long since we saw of each other. And good god, what are you wearing?"

. . . . .

True to his form, Reddington had a car ready to drive them to a posh restaurant in downtown Chicago. Liz admittedly felt quite cross at Reddington making her change her clothes, but that soon dissipated as dish after dish were laid before them. "Umm, this is a lot of food for just two of us", Liz whispered.

"Only the best for our first meal. How long has it been? Two years?"

Liz looked at him in silent response.

"Well, let's dig in. This looks and smells absolutely glorious." However Reddington's food was left untouched as he continued his gaze over Liz. "You look great, Elizabeth. I think you're quite ready to join the civilization again, wouldn't you agree?"

Liz didn't know how to respond to that. What are you getting at, Red?

"I'm staying until Saturday, we should go to the opera tomorrow night. Puccini is playing at the Orpheum, you haven't lived until you've seen Puccini."

"Where are you staying?" Liz mindlessly inquired.

"Not at the Sheraton," Red replied with a broad smile. Liz dropped her fork. Yup, he knows.

"Why did you give Ressler my number?"

Red nodded and waited a moment. "You see, Lizzie, that's not important. What is more interesting, though, is that Agent Ressler was here two days after I gave him your number. Two days. I learned that buffoons can move fast."

"He's not a buffoon." Reddington raised his eye brow.

"In any case, I'm sure your date went swimmingly. What did you two talk about?"

"That is none of your business. And it was not a date."

After a moment's pause, Red spoke, "Did Agent Ressler talk to you about coming back to Washington? To the bureau?"

Liz did not respond.

"Lizzie, I'm sure Agent Ressler would agree with me that you can't possibly live like this for the rest of your life. You can't let your ex-husband dictate your life, to keep you from your passion, the one thing you've worked so hard for. You invested your heart, soul, and mind. Lizzie, you need to live again, you need to go back to the bureau. You are a damn good agent."

That is what Donald said, she recalled. That's what he said before leaving. And the emotions returned to Liz, the memories of his presence. And she missed him.

"And Lizzie, you have no idea how much fun we're going to have."


	5. Chapter 5

Two Years Since

Chapter 5

The elevator clunked upward, loudly but efficiently. There were always two bumps between the floors. Liz thought back to the first time she rode on that elevator, her official first day on the job, the day that inexplicably changed everything about her life. On that very spot, she stood next to Special Agent Donald Ressler, working so hard to dismiss his accusatory comments and curt responses, laced with condescension and obvious mistrust. Liz hated how he assumed the worst of her, and how he not only refused to hide it, but took it upon himself to flaunt said sentiments at every moment possible.

And now here she was, on this elevator, feeling like new and out of place, just like that first day. She looked down upon her navy pantsuit, perfectly pressed. Her eyes lingered upon her hands, bare fingers without a ring. But she was done with that, there were no more feelings or memories to deal with. That chapter of her life was long gone.

Instead, as the elevator closed in on the destination, Liz's heart quickened with the thought of another, Donald Ressler. She hasn't seen him for six months, since his visit to her apartment in Chicago. "Focus, Lizzie, focus on the job." Liz chided herself, shutting out the memories of his visit out of her mind, the memories that easily flooded in when unguarded. The memories of his touch, his inquisitive blue eyes, the anticipation of his kiss. "Focus, Lizzie, focus on the job."

The elevator opened with a soft thud, behind it stood Commander Harold Cooper and CIA Agent Meera Malik, who wore a huge grin on her face. It was at that moment that Liz realized how much she's missed this place, that this job was truly her calling, her life purpose. And she could not imagine doing any of this without the two very people who stood in front of her. Agent Malik swiftly closed in on Liz and gave her a tight hug. "Welcome back, Elizabeth. We've missed you so much," she gushed. The hug was wholly uncharacteristic of hard-edged Agent Malik, but nonetheless Liz returned the squeeze. "Thank you. I've missed this place as well. It's really good to see you."

Commander Cooper stepped forward and offered his hand, "Welcome back, Agent Keen." Liz shook his hand with a shy smile, "Thank you, sir. It's good to be back." Then he led her to his office to officially reissue her badge and her gun, as well as to debrief her on some cases. Cooper also inquired about Reddington, to which Liz assured him of Red's intention to continue to work with the bureau. After about two hours of general debriefing, Liz was excused to her old office. As she was leaving, Cooper assured, "It's good to have you back, Agent Keen. We wouldn't have it any other way."

As Liz walked to her office, she noted some changes to the black site, but some things have remained absolutely unchanged. She walked by the crime board, noting familiar faces and notes, and studying newly posted cases. "Already at work, eh?" Liz turned around to see Agent Malik. "You don't waste time, Agent Keen."

Liz chuckled, "Of course, once an agent, always an agent. You know how that is, Agent Malik."

"Yes, too fondly. I need to debrief you on our latest case, it's a possible kidnap situation of Russian Ambassador who's visiting the Capitol."

"Cooper told me, I'm ready," Liz responded as she quickly scanned the floor. She was about to scan again when Malik interrupted. "Agent Ressler is out in the field. He will not be back until the evening."

"Excuse me?"

"Agent Ressler," Malik reiterated, with a faint smile. "He's investigating a lead. You can give him a call, if you like."

Liz felt quite taken back by Malik's bold assumption, and fought hard to collect herself without seemingly so. What did she mean by that? Or rather, how did she know? Malik stood there and waited for Liz's reaction, but Malik's face told of gentle inquisition and warm acceptance. Liz couldn't help but to feel a hit nerve, like she's been exposed way too soon and she wasn't ready to verbalize any of it. "Agent Malik, do you mind if I go check out my office before the debrief?" Liz did the only thing she could do: retreat.

Liz entered her office and breathed a welcomed sigh of relief as she felt the immediate familiarity. It's been over two years, yet the sense of connection and sanctuary was a welcomed emotion. She's always felt safe here, it was her space, her escape. Liz sat on her chair and dusted off her desk a bit. "I'm sorry, Agent Keen. Cooper wants us in his office. Now." Malik interrupted upon her office door, and left as quickly as she spoke. Liz clenched her jaw and got up from her chair. But before she took a step, she took out her phone from the pant pocket. Liz gazed at her phone, contemplating on doing just what Malik suggested. "But what would I say to him?" Liz was lost in thought when Malik appeared at her door again, "Agent Keen, we need you."

. . . . .

Liz spent the rest of the day with Agent Malik at the Russian Embassy, collecting data and logistics of the Ambassador's visit scheduled for next week. The Ambassador's Gala required much security, and they reviewed every staff and team as Cooper demanded no pages left unturned. After the Embassy, they grabbed a quick bite together as they were finally able to relax a bit. Malik did not mention Ressler's name again; Liz evading the bait had not gone unnoticed.

Liz and Malik came back to the headquarters to debrief with Cooper. It was quite late, and the place was now devoid of the usual bustle, except for the few faces here and there. They made their way to Cooper's office, Liz trailing behind Malik. They entered his office, and as Liz closed the door and turned around, she couldn't help but let out a silent gasp. Sitting on the couch by the wall was Agent Ressler, his steely gaze upon Liz standing by the door. She hadn't expected to see him there at all, and she didn't know how to react to the suddenness of the situation. She felt like an awkward teenager, and felt herself blushing.

"What have you got?" Cooper wasted no time, and Malik expertly filled him in all the logistics. Ressler chimed in, "The Gala would be a prime location for the hit, and we need all the agents to secure the grounds." Ressler spoke with gravity and duty, perpetually wearing the frown that etched on his forehead.

Cooper responded, "Alright, let's dispatch three teams for the Gala. Malik, you take the grounds. Ressler, Keen, you oversee the inside. It's next Saturday, that gives us seven days to finalize the surveillance. Make sure you cover all corners." With that, the debriefing was over and everyone filed out of the office.

Ressler, Liz, and Malik walked silently toward the elevator, until Malik suddenly called out, "I've gotta make a quick phone call, actually. I'll see you both tomorrow." And she quickly walked away. Liz looked back at Malik's swift steps and knew that no phone call awaited her.

Ressler and Liz stepped into the elevator without a word. Ressler pressed the elevator button, and it wasn't until the door closed shut that he turned to Liz. "Welcome back."

"Thank you", Liz spoke as their eyes met. Liz gave a small, delicate smile. There was so much she wanted to say to him.

"Cooper was very glad to hear from you."

"Oh, was he? I was nervous whether he wanted me back."

"You're one of our best agents, Elizabeth. You're a real asset." Ressler changed his gaze forward, staring at the elevator door.

Liz wasn't sure how to proceed. Donald sounded almost impersonal, uncomfortable. This is not the same person whom she's shared wine with.

"This Russian Ambassador case is going to require a lot of attention. I hope you're ready to get deep with it."

"I am."

"Are you all settled in somewhere?" Can this be the first personal inquiry?

"Yes, I found a place near downtown."

"Good, so you won't be distracted."

Liz turned to him, wanting to meet his gaze, desperately wanting to connect with him. But Ressler resolutely stared forward at the elevator door, while being absolutely aware of her gaze. Liz couldn't understand why Donald was treating her at such arm's length, devoid of emotion and familiarity. She had missed him so much. Liz wanted him to take her hand, and…

The elevator stopped and Ressler abruptly opened the door. They stepped out quietly, and after a moment, he turned to Liz. "I'll see you tomorrow. Good night, Elizabeth." His face was etched in a tense frown, as if he wanted to say something else.

"Good night." With that, Liz watched Donald walk away, his dark overcoat flapping while he took his methodical steps. Stunned, confused, and bewildered, Liz stood speechless.

What just happened?


	6. Chapter 6

Two Years Since

Chapter 6

Liz bit into the burnt toast and threw the rest into the trash can. She gulped down the hot coffee, decidedly too quickly, and winced as it left a scalding trail down her throat. She reluctantly glanced at the pile of dirty laundry at the corner of her small studio apartment, as well as the assortment of dirty dishes in the kitchen sink. She dared not take a peek into her refrigerator; god knows what species of wet greenery is proliferating in there.

The Russian Ambassador case has completely engulfed her life during her first week back at the bureau. Her apartment was used strictly for the purpose of sleeping and changing clothes, the other hours were spent at the headquarters or out in the field. It has been an ugly cycle of Chinese take-outs or boxes of pizza for the agents who were preparing for the Ambassador's Gala that night. The intensity of the case left Liz hardly any time to tend to anything else, let alone household chores.

At the loud car honk, Liz gulped down the last of her coffee, grabbed her blue coat, and ran out of the door. As the cold winter morning greeted her, Liz hurriedly made it down the stairs and onto the street, and climbed into Ressler's parked car. They exchanged a quick, wordless nod before Ressler resumed driving. With a full day ahead, Ressler skipped the greetings and began debriefing Liz on the latest developments as they drove to the Russian Embassy.

Liz listened intently, periodically making eye contact with Ressler as he offered it. This has become a bit of a daily ritual: planning and debriefing in Ressler's car in the morning, a quick bite if time allowed it, pouring over data, meetings with Cooper, and strategy research at the headquarters until wee hours of the night. Liz has even gotten familiar with his aftershave that lingered in his car.

Perhaps it was the gravity of the case that allowed no room for anything else between Liz and Ressler, and neither of them made any concerted effort to push beyond the boundaries. Business was strictly kept to the utmost at all times, perhaps a little too neatly. It didn't escape Liz, and she knew for Ressler as well, that there was a tangible sense of fear. A fear of this neatly fabricated world breaking down, and that they would be forced to face up to whatever they were hiding. There will be a time for all pretenses to crumble, to fall apart; until then, this wall will stand erect, held up by these hands of fear.

On this particular day, Liz and Ressler were headed to the Embassy to man and oversee the surveillance for the Gala that night. It was going to be big event with hundreds of attendees, and security had to be in top form, especially with the threat of a possible assassination. In the midst of Ressler's instructions, Liz's phone rang. "You should get that", growled Ressler.

"This is Keen."

"Hello, Lizzie."

As Ressler turned quickly toward Liz, she informed him, "It's Reddington."

"Reddington, I can't talk right now."

"Are you headed to the Russian Embassy?"

"Yes." That would be considered classified information. How did he know?

"Lizzie, I am sending a car to pick you up from there. You must do everything I ask you to do. This is extremely urgent."

"Red, I just can't do that." Ressler looked at Liz wanting to know what was going on.

"Elizabeth, I must most urgently ask you to take my word. Once you get to the Embassy, you will see my car. Get in it, and I'll explain everything."

"What is this about?"

"It's about the Russian Ambassador. If you want to save his life, you will do as I say. See you at the Embassy." With that, Reddington hung up the phone.

"What did he want?" inquired Ressler with visible irritation.

"He is going to pick me up at the Embassy. He said it's about the Russian Ambassador, he must have some information. He said it was urgent."

After a moment of thought, Ressler responded, "If it's urgent, have him go to headquarters and talk to Cooper."

"He wants me, you know that. I have to go, it's worth finding out."

Ressler did not look pleased at the turn of the events. "Just keep your phone on at all times."

As Ressler's car drove through the gate of the Embassy, Reddington's car was already there, with the door open. Liz got out of Ressler's car, but not without the last glance at his face, and his eyes that softened with concern.

. . . . .

The Gala was at full swing, and all the Special Agents were busy surveying the grounds. Ressler had changed into a nice tuxedo to blend in with other attendees at this black tie event. Agent Malik spotted Ressler at the event room and walked toward him.

"Agent Ressler, all security teams are in place."

Ressler looked a bit startled to see her. "Agent Malik, I thought you were assigned to the grounds by the gate."

"Yes, I've been reassigned to the event room, I'm replacing Agent Keen."

Like a tiny crack in a hard shell, Ressler's face broke ever so slightly to reveal disappointment and worry. "Where is Agent Keen? Have you heard anything?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. Haven't seen her since she left with Reddington this morning. Cooper reassigned me an hour ago." Malik studied Ressler's face closely, as if trying to read every emotion behind every expression. Ressler suddenly became conscious of her prying eyes, and cleared his throat.

"Why don't you give her a call?" Malik suggested, hiding a tiny smile that crept up at the corner of her mouth.

"Yes, well, we've got work to do," Ressler spoke curtly and walked away.

. . . . .

The Gala lasted two hours without any incident whatsoever. The Russian Ambassador has been safely escorted to the airport, and the security team remained on ground until all the attendees had left. As Ressler was walking towards his car, he anxiously checked his watch. 11 P.M. He also pulled out his phone, there had been no calls. Ressler got into his car and closed the door rather forcibly, letting out a small grunt. He sat, lost in thought, while clenching the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. Finally he turned on the ignition and headed toward the one place on his mind.

. . . . .

Liz got out of the car as Reddington held the door open for her. Ever a gentleman, Red offered his hand, and out of habit, Liz took it. "Well, this has been a rather eventful day, wouldn't you agree?" he mused melodically, "We shall have to do that again."

"I would rather not," Liz spoke flatly.

As they approached the stairs to her studio apartment, Liz spotted a shadowy figure sitting on the bottom stairs. She did a double take as that figure arose and the street light illuminated his face. It was Ressler.

"Donald, how pleasant it is to see you. And don't you look quite spiffy," Reddington noted Ressler's tuxedo, undoubtedly amused, "I do approve that look on you. What a tickle."

Ressler's eyes glared at him, however his face remained expressionless as to rob Reddington of the satisfaction. Ressler did not offer any words, but his body was tense and stiff. Liz could see that he was in no mood to play Reddington's game of wit.

"Well, as much as I'd like to chat and catch up, it is rather late and I do have other plans to attend to. Good night, Lizzie. Good night, Donald. And Donald, manage to relax a little, will you?" After a loud chuckle, Reddington got in his car and now remained two people on the street.

After the car was out of sight, she turned to Ressler. "What are you doing here?" She hadn't meant to sound cross, but she felt like she wanted some answers. Some truths.

"What am I doing here? What are you doing? Where were you all day? It's almost midnight." Ressler not only matched her tone of demand, but added certain level of anger that's been harboring in him all day.

Liz looked at him incredulously. "What do you mean, where was I? I was with Reddington, working on the case. For the Russian Ambassador. I've informed Cooper that I'll debrief with him tomorrow."

Obviously that response was not enough to quell his already a train-wreck of emotions. "You've informed Cooper, did you? Lizzie, you should've called me." He seemed to be shouting.

Liz didn't know how to respond, nor did she understand why she herself was feeling angry.

"What you did was..so incredibly..that was the most irresponsible..if you only knew.." Ressler stammered. Liz couldn't decide what clouded his speech, his anger or his concern.

"What are you saying?" Liz glared in exasperation.

"What I'm saying, is that..I just want to protect you." With that, all the anger and emotions subsided to silence. Ressler studied her face earnestly, while Liz took a moment to absorb these words. She certainly did not expect him to say any of this.

"Protect me? Donald, you hardly spoke two words of concern to me since I've been back. You've hardly looked at me as a woman, as someone that you've…" Liz couldn't finish that sentence, but Ressler understood.

"You want to protect me? Donald, I've never asked you to, nor do I need it."

The words fell with the weight and gravity of the finality. Liz wished she could take back those words, the words that were laced with too much of sensibilities and not enough of sense. What words can she use to make this better? To help him understand that this isn't what she meant?

However, Ressler didn't appear to be interested in any explanations. He understood, all right. He understood a little too clearly, a little too painfully. They stood with their eyes fixed on one another, until Ressler simply nodded in agreement and bid her a silent good-night. He left without a sound, walked away without looking back. Liz watched him, feeling the futility of any words at the moment.

. . . . .

Tossing and turning. Tossing and turning. Liz peeked at her bedside clock. 1 A.M. Her mind was restless and flooded with the memories of what transpired at the end of the evening. The probability that she had hurt him somehow was impossible to take in. Donald only wanted to protect her, yet why did she reject this? Perhaps she couldn't reconcile his previous cold behavior with this newfound concern she hadn't expected. She was caught completely off guard, and felt at a loss as to how to comprehend it and accept it. Is this how it feels when walls break down, and we are left to face our fears? Liz wondered about Donald, what he must be thinking and feeling. Or whether he's sleeping, hopefully without much dent from her harsh words.

Then sharply breaking through the silence of the night, her door bell rang.

Liz stood up immediately with alarm, wondering who could be at her door at this hour. She got up from her bed, put on her grey robe, and walked quietly to peek through the door peep hole. It was Donald. Her eyes widened, she couldn't believe it. She composed herself, and opened the door gently. Indeed, on the other side stood Donald Ressler, in jeans and sweatshirt.

"Liz, I..um..I'm sorry, I know it's late, but I just couldn't sleep until I spoke to you."


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: Thank you again for all the positive reaction to this story, it is really inspiring and encouraging. From the episode 9, it seems like Ressler needs a brand new leg. Yikes, I hope he makes it, because if he doesn't, I'll be quitting the show in protest. Just kidding…maybe not…

A side note…I had a really difficult time writing Ressler in fluff situations, because I don't think I've seen enough of his character in those situations. It was hard for me to gauge what this character would do in certain settings, so if you find that I've grossly ripped up his character, do let me know kindly. Thanks!

Two Years Since

Chapter 7

Everything else seemed real. The chilly night wind that was dancing its way up into her grey cotton robe, the lonely porch light that illuminated every curl of breath, the blanket of stars that kept silent company with the moon, and the serene rustling of the pine leaves, they were all real. Even the blushing awareness that perhaps her hair was in the condition of the most dreadful bed tangles, and that she was not wearing a stitch of make-up, they were all too real. Never had she felt this raw, this exposed and unfeigned, and absolutely at the mercy hands of the one who stood before her. The presence of this being, was so unreal like a mere figment of her imagination, as if she was seeing how her heart desires had actualized and was breathing life. Can this be real?

"Liz?" A voice, of one fully materialized, called out as to wake her up from this suspended debate. Yes, this indeed was real. Donald Ressler was standing on her porch.

"Um, would you like to come in?" Still not fully present at the moment, this was all she can produce.

"No, I'd rather..I, uh..I would just like to say some things here, if that's alright." Donald stammered and shifted his feet, as if he had just made the most difficult decision of his life. His brows were needlessly furrowed, but his deep blue eyes were clear and sparkling by the glare of the porch light.

"Sure. Of, course." Liz didn't have the foggiest idea where this was going.

"I wanted to apologize for how I behaved earlier, I should not have raised my voice, nor should I have demanded anything from you. I didn't mean to get angry, and I was completely out of line."

"No, Don, you don't have to apologize, I should've called you. That was short sighted on my part." Liz interjected, wanting to alleviate his discomfiture, even just a little bit.

"Liz, it wasn't just today. The whole week, I...I've just been…an ass." At this, Liz couldn't help but to let out a shy chuckle. It didn't escape him after all, and he gets to the point. Liz considered adding a mild quip, but decided against it and remained silent.

Donald gazed into Liz's eyes, but quickly diverted his attention to his feet, then to the corner of his jacket, then onto the porch light, and back to his feet. Liz may be an expert profiler but she didn't need any special skills to surmise that he was struggling a great deal to formulate his thoughts, as well as to express them. Liz felt anxious and apprehensive, waiting to hear what he had to say, yet at the same time couldn't help but to find the entire situation a bit amusing. Special Agent Donald Ressler was a consummate embodiment of one expertly suited and coiffed, whip-smart and impeccable like finely oiled military machinery, perfectly restrained and always in control, who can ascertain situations as if reading an atlas. He dismissed any display of weakness and deemed it a flaw, and would scoff with condescension and discontent.

Liz mused how Donald, in his Special Agent mode, would assess this situation of the man who was shifting his feet like a nervous tick, looking like a school boy about to ask a girl out to a dance. Oh, Special Agent Ressler would never approve of this, and would chastise the man for lack of preparation and being too careless and unguarded in his display of emotions. Liz had never seen him like this; something significant has doubtlessly touched his nerve.

"I'm not a man of many words, as you can see." These words broke through the silence of the company.

Liz continued her gaze into his eyes, but did not offer any words. She thought it best to offer him unbounded moment to speak his mind and clear his conscience.

"You were right, this job is all I have. My ex-fiance left me because I chose this job over her. I cared about nothing but climbing up the ranks, passing the muster. I worked hard, and I fought hard to let nothing stand in my way. I thought this was enough, that I could live like this for the rest of my life."

Donald continued after a brief recollection. "Then the last five years happened. Reddington showed up at our door step, and I had to shift and relearn a lot of things. Believe me, there were many times I wanted to shoot, choke hold, and just man handle that son of a bitch with my bare hands."

A short chuckle escaped from Liz's lips. Those sentiments were apparent to everyone, including Red, as Donald had never invested any energy to hide his true perceptions of the man.

"When Reddington brought you in, I had my doubts and suspicions about you. As you know." Donald spoke sheepishly, as if disheartened by this admittance. "I didn't trust you, and I was convinced that you were a criminal, working with Reddington. It was my job to bring you down."

"But I was wrong. Wrong about you, wrong about a lot of things. That son of a bitch ended up saving my life. Ironic, isn't it? Reddington just keeps me on my toes, and while I can't stand that he's neither black nor white, at least I know that his intentions for you are good."

Liz was starting to think that Donald was here to talk about Red. She exerted extra effort and will to mask the disappointment that may escape unto the surface.

"I've come to trust you, Liz, and not just as a partner…but more than that. I've come to respect you and regard you as someone just like me, working for the truth, looking for the truth."

Donald was shifting his feet again. He's really awful at this, truly not the man of many words.

"I've admired you for so long, the way you dealt with Reddington, even the way you dealt with me from the beginning, the way you use your strength, your intelligence, your humanity and character. I couldn't do what I did without you."

Liz was left quite speechless at this rare reveal, and felt her cheeks flush with cautious delight. She wished she could relish in this moment of honesty for as long as she can.

"I…I've come to care for you, Liz. Especially after what happened with…with your ex-husband. I wished I knew how to make things better for you, to protect you, but I knew I couldn't. When you left, I thought I'll never see you again."

At the mention of Tom, in the distant place of her heart was a quiet stir, a pang of mysterious emotion that Liz knew would never dissipate. Donald was right, in that there's nothing he could've done about it.

"When Red gave me your contact number after two years, I couldn't believe it. I had lost all hope of seeing you again, and never thought that he would help me out, again. Irony, at its cruelest."

At this, they shared a demure grin. Behind all the jabs and insults, Liz had always thought that Reddington does like Donald quite a bit. Perhaps Donald is aware of this as well.

"The day we spent together in Chicago was…great. I mean, it was everything that I hoped for. To see you, to see that you're doing well, and to talk to you. I missed you, so much. When I first saw you at the café, I felt as though everything about the world was normal again."

At this Liz was reminded of the near kiss between them, and felt her cheeks flush again. Damn it, got to get this under control.

Donald, perhaps wisely, decided to sidestep this grave detail. "When I told you to come back to the bureau, I meant that. You're a great agent, and we make a great team. And I trust you."

"I guess what I didn't anticipate is how I'd feel about it. What I mean is…when I saw you on your first day, and working with you since then…all I feel is that I want to protect you. I can't seem to look at you because when I do…I forget what I'm doing."

Liz continued her gaze in silence. Everything, the leaves and the winds, seemed to hide in a soft hush.

"I'm a man of rank, this job is supposed to be all I have. But everything turned out to be different, what is supposed to be is not what is. When I look at you…I want a different life."

Liz wasn't certain whether Donald wanted to speak further after they've stood wordlessly for a moment. She wasn't quite sure what to say herself. Was this a declaration of love? He didn't exactly say that particular word. A declaration of care? Of concern? Was he declaring his friendship to me? Nothing was easy with this guy. It was certainly tempting to throw him into the interrogation room, and barrage him with cruel and unusual punishment; maybe perhaps then she shall receive some concrete information from Donald Ressler.

Liz wasn't sure when Donald had bid his good bye and left. She hadn't said a word to him, but suddenly she was alone by her door, with the leaves and the wind returning with whirl and bustle.

. . . . .

The car honked at exactly 8:30 A.M. Liz scurried out the door, with her auburn hair still mopping wet from the shower, and into Reddington's waiting car.

"Late night?"

"Yeah, you can say that."

"Oh, do tell." Red folded his hands, in mocked curiosity. "What did Donald do now?"

Liz looked out the window, refusing to even make eye contact. She can play this sassy game, too.

"He looked quite handsome yesterday, don't you think? As a wise saying goes, a man who looks good in a tuxedo, is a man worth trusting."

. . . . .

Reddington and Liz walked into Cooper's office for their 9 A. M. debriefing of the Russian Ambassador case. The case was now classified as closed as they were able to divert any kidnapping and assassination attempts, and the Ambassador was safe at home and under the protection of the Russian security. As the meeting adjourned in two hours, Reddington turned to Cooper before exiting his office.

"Is Agent Ressler available today, for a brief unofficial meeting?"

Cooper responded curtly, "No, he is not. I told him to take the day off today."

Liz stared ahead while walking out of Cooper's office, tenaciously avoiding Reddington's inquisitive eyes. She knew what he was thinking, and what he was attempting to do. He was always trying to throw oil unto the fire, and today she was absolutely in no mood to be the pawn to his game of silly entertainment.

"Goodbye, Red." She stated in finality as she marched away from him and into her office.

. . . . .

Liz looked up to the wall clock and read 10:22 P.M. She's been holed up in her office the whole day, catching up on paper work and some reading that's been neglected due to the Russian Ambassador case. Liz knew that Agent Malik had left for home an hour ago, and most likely Cooper is still in his office. She got up from the chair with a heavy sigh, and stretched out her legs before packing up her belongings. Liz also had to resolve the ride issue. She can't simply call a taxi to the black site for a pick up.

"Do you need a ride home?" A question was heard, along with a delayed knock on the door.

Liz looked up, only to be pleasantly startled. "Agent Ressler…Donald…what are you doing here? I thought Cooper ordered you to take the day off."

"I came in to pick up a file. Then checked in with Cooper who debriefed me on the Russian Ambassador case you worked on with Reddington. Good job." Donald offered with a broad smile. "So, how about a ride?"

. . . . .

Agent Ressler's car must be the mutually designated place for business as they discussed strictly on the bureau cases. Liz informed him, in detail, of what unfolded the day before and how Reddington was able to thwart the assassination attempt. Neither of them brought up the conversation of the night before, and perhaps the case discussions were mere attempts at avoiding the very topic. But Liz couldn't help but to think that the way Donald looked at her was a bit different. There was something indescribably warm and earnest, almost tender…and amorous. No, it can't be. She scolded herself, reminding not to read emotions she had simply wished existed.

"Well, here we are", Donald faintly declared as he drove up in front of her studio apartment.

"Yes…thank you, Donald, for the ride." The two sat quietly for a short moment, before Liz interjected, "I'll see you tomorrow."

Liz smiled towards Donald in show of gratitude before reaching for the door handle. He suddenly grasped her arm and inquired gingerly, "Would you like a ride tomorrow morning?"

"No, Red is going to pick me up. He's offered the ride earlier today."

"Oh, I see." Liz had to remind herself again that she shouldn't read emotions of those she wished, even though disappointment on Donald's face was rather difficult to dismiss.

"Good night."

"Good night."

Liz got out of Donald's car and walked up to her apartment in haste. It was quite frigid, and her sole objective at the moment was to get inside her apartment as quickly as she can. Her body started to shiver a bit, and just as she struggled to get her keys out of her coat pocket, a familiar voice called out from behind.

"Elizabeth."

Liz turned around quickly to find Donald, on her porch, standing behind her. Before she can recover from the unexpected presence, she felt his hand gently circle around her waist and his lips on her lips in a soft, tender kiss. His other hand found its way to her cheek to delicately glide her face, just as his lips tenderly grazed over her bottom lip, then traveled to her upper lip. Liz's eyes closed in response to the warmth of his lips, to his gentle but firm grasp of her waist, to the faint familiar aroma of his aftershave, and to her own heart that desired to surrender into him. Her hand had now made its way to the nape of his neck, his soft blond hair in her fingers, just as he drew her in tighter against his chest and the kiss grew in deepened ardor.

Donald broke the kiss gently, and in a breath, softly murmured, "I've been wanting to do that for a long time."

And just as he went for her lips again, he breathlessly whispered.

"Elizabeth, I'm in love with you."


	8. Chapter 8

Two Years Since

Chapter 8

Liz took a long careful sip of the steaming black coffee, thoroughly savoring the warming sensation of the hot tingling liquid permeating through her body. The bliss was short lived, however, as she scanned her small studio apartment and cringed in disdain at the pile of dirty laundry scattered on the floor. After another sip of the coffee, Liz reluctantly walked across the room, and with a surly crinkle of her nose, picked up the pile and discarded them into the hamper in her small bathroom. Upon surveying once again, the feeling of satisfaction has yet to wave over as she noted her shoes need to be picked up, dishes to be cleaned, newspapers to be discarded, and stacks of files to be cleared off the table. There were still boxes of her things that she hasn't opened since her move back to DC. She sighed in exasperation, and walked back to her blissful cup of coffee, conveniently shutting out that corner of existence for a little bit longer.

The sunlight has now started to delicately seep through the curtains, and Liz daintily walked over to peek out to the world outside. It had snowed over night, and all the surfaces were blanketed with soft white powder, now glimmering and sparkling under the sweet winter sun. Tiny beads of dew had formed on her window, infusing the stark contrast of her cozy warm apartment to the cold blistery world outside. The tangible wave of peace and serenity washed over her heart and soul, and at that moment Liz felt as though she needed nothing else, that everything she's ever wanted was already in her possession. And with that thought, she turned to the figure gleefully sleeping on her bed in the corner of her apartment.

Liz took in this sight, of Donald Ressler sound asleep, entangled in her white blanket. His bare chest glistened against the sunlight, and his blond hair was sufficiently tousled, giving him a boyish look that she's secretly adored. With her eyes softly planted on him, Liz thought back to last night, of Donald kissing her on the porch. He had told her that he was in love with her, and his kiss told of released want and desire that have been suppressed and hidden for so long. What was released was the passion and hunger that she's never received before, arousing all her senses, and awakening the madness until she had to have him only to herself.

Liz couldn't remember just how exactly her door became unlocked as they breathlessly hurdled inside, each kiss becoming more urgent and maddening. Each swiftly shed their coats, and Donald impatiently tugged at her blouse while she forcibly pulled up his dress shirt. Letting out a soft deep moan, Donald took the cue and ravenously invaded inside of her blouse, his hands now on her bare back, ardently caressing and melting away every shred of her lucidity. Quickly and desperately, every article of clothing was unceremoniously tossed to the floor, and their bodies in fierce entanglement, fell onto the soft cool bed. As his lips and hands explored every inch of her body, Liz wanted more and deeper. Donald drew her body tight, melding her skin unto his, and as their bodies coiled in love, he murmured faintly against her taut skin, "I love you."

Liz's thoughts were interrupted when Donald shifted slightly on the bed, and soon enough he was struggling to open his drowsy eyes. She tiptoed towards the bed, and sat on the corner until his eyes were fully open. "Hi," he breathed out as he spotted her, giving her a lazy sweet smile.

"Good morning," Liz whispered as she leaned down and gave him a tender kiss, while resting her hand on his bare chest. She gently stroked his firm chest, relishing in the knowledge that she can now put a claim on this man. "It's about time you wake up, handsome."

"Well, you know, somebody kept me up all night." Donald teased with a mean twinkle in his eyes, and she leaned down to give him another kiss, mumbling, "Not that you complained."

"Oh, no ma'am, I'll never complain about that. And why are you dressed?" And with that, Donald delicately grabbed Liz on her waist and pulled her on top of him. "You should've woke me up, beautiful," Donald whispered as he kissed her deeply, sufficiently melting her heart once again. After a moment, Liz broke the kiss reluctantly.

"We gotta go to work." Liz declared demurely as Donald let out a deep growl of resistance.

"What time is it?"

"8:20."

Donald caressed her bare hip underneath her T-shirt, "We have time."

Liz feigned a stern look, "It's 8:20, and Red is picking me up in half an hour."

"Call him, and tell him I'm driving you."

Liz considered it, but knew that would not sit well with Red since she's already accepted his offer. Plus, knowing Red's sharp perception, Liz didn't want to risk arousing any suspicion. "No, I should go with Red. You need to go home yourself and change into new clothes. You can take a shower here, and there's some coffee for you." Donald was not at all pleased with this deal, but Liz gave him a quick kiss before getting off the bed. But not before wailing, "And don't mind the mess, I'll get to it soon."

. . . . .

"Well, good morning, Lizzie." Reddington melodiously called out as Liz got into his waiting car.

"Good morning." She returned in customary politeness, but she couldn't hide her smile in time before Red took notice. He kept his gaze on her for a moment, gently folding his hands in silent inquisition.

"You're in a good mood this morning, Lizzie? Pray tell, what is your secret?" Red inquired with the perpetual raised brow. Sometimes Lizzie wanted to take her own fingers and smooth out those lines, those all-knowing audacious lines.

"Black coffee, that's my secret." Liz responded flatly.

"Oh don't underestimate me, Lizzie, I think it's more than that," Red retorted with a cheeky grin, "May I venture a guess?"

"You may not." Don't you dare.

Then as if saved by the bell, Liz's cell phone rang out from the pocket of her dark blue coat. Oh thank god, Liz thought, she needed to end this conversation fast. She looked at her cell phone, and read it was Cooper dialing.

"Agent Keen, is Reddington with you?" Cooper interrogated, bypassing the perfunctory greetings.

"Yes, sir. I'm in his car as we speak. We are headed to the black site."

"Good. I need both of you in my office when you arrive." With that, Cooper hung up abruptly.

Liz did not like the tone of Cooper's voice, and instinctively presumed that an urgent and pressing issue was at hand. With each turn of the wheel, as the vehicle drew closer to its destination, Liz's heart became filled with trepidation and alarm.

. . . . .

"Harold, what is this about?" Reddington took charge as they entered Cooper's office. Liz took a seat, while Reddington elected to stand in the middle of the room. Cooper was sitting behind his desk with a file in hand. His eyes acknowledged Reddington, but his attention quickly settled on Liz, and addressed her in grave intonation.

"Agent Keen, let me start off by stating that whatever decision you make, the bureau stands by you and respects your judgment. This decision is only for yours to make."

Her thoughts turned blank. "Sir? I don't understand."

After a moment's pause, Cooper spoke solemnly. "Tom Keen has requested to see you."

Those words, and the utterance of that name, came crashing down onto Liz's heart like a giant boulder settling upon a house of glass. It almost felt foreign to hear someone articulate that name, as if the past life was a dream, therefore this had to be a dream as well. Everything became standstill, as if the world ceased to turn, and even the flow of breathing was forgotten as every faculty of her being became ravaged with emotions she had fought so hard to overcome. Liz sat motionless, with hands neatly on her lap, unable to speak.

"Why?" Reddington took over, with an undeniable air of implausible anger and incredulity.

Cooper had been studying Liz, but now turned his attention onto Reddington. "He says he has information he wants to relay to Agent Keen. Important information."

"Such as?"

Cooper cleared his throat, and took a moment before replying. "Information about you, Reddington."

At this revelation, Liz turned her eyes toward Red, unable to fully comprehend what this meant, or even what was happening. Reddington himself appeared to be at loss for words, in itself a rare occurrence. His sharp eyes turned to Liz, then again to Cooper. "Can't you see, Harold? This is an entrapment, he is playing you, playing this situation. Elizabeth, you, and me, we are just means to whatever ends he's trying to gain. This is preposterous, and highly dangerous. You cannot send Agent Keen to see this man."

"We are not sending anyone, Mr. Reddington. My obligation was to transfer this information to Agent Keen. The bureau stands by whatever decision she will make."

"Where is he?" Liz interjected, cutting through the heat between these two men.

"He is at a high-level penitentiary located in West Virginia. It's a place that doesn't exist." Cooper spoke softly.

"And when did he make this request?"

"Just about an hour ago. The message was wired through the FBI security, and they are waiting for your response." Cooper exhaled deeply as he folded his hands on the desk. He looked as helpless and confused as Liz was.

Red cut in with very little patience. "Lizzie, this man is dangerous. You know this as well as I do. You have seen what this man can do, what he's capable of. I must warn you, do not even entertain the idea. You mustn't think of him as man you once knew. He is a trained killer, and if given a chance, he will kill you."

Red took a pause before continuing, and now he was kneeling on the floor, facing Liz who sat on the chair without a stir. "Lizzie, there is nothing that this man knows about me. Do not be fooled. All of this is just a ruse, a lie, to entice you. Do not go see this man. There is nothing he can tell you that you don't know already." Liz lifted her chin to fully face him, and saw his strained eyes in deep wrinkles, etched in distress and desperation.

Red then turned to Cooper. "Harold, I must ask you to place protective surveillance on Agent Keen, she may already be in danger as we speak."

Liz didn't know what to think. It's been over two years since she's seen Tom. What can he possibly want from her, or want of her? Reddington is right, Tom is not the man she's once knew; he is a dangerous criminal, a cold-blooded killer. Just like Reddington, who was as enigmatic to her as on the first day she's met him. What if Tom did know something about Red? What if? Just what if…

Liz felt as though she could no longer think or breathe in that room. She stood up abruptly, and turned to Cooper. "May I be excused? I need some air." He nodded and she walked out hastily, leaving Red behind.

. . . . .

Liz walked briskly towards her office, seeking the solace of her space when she spotted Donald by the crime board. By the looks of it, there was absolutely no sign of the night's dalliance as he now donned a sharp grey suit, and his tousled hair was now perfectly combed. When their eyes met, Donald swiftly walked towards her direction, with a small intimate smile reserved only for Liz.

Liz stepped into her office, aware that Donald was close behind. She hadn't had enough time to fully understand and process what had happened in Cooper's office, and now she was afraid that Donald will see right through her. She had to decide quickly whether she should inform Donald of all that's happened. But before she could formulate another thought, she heard Donald close the door behind her. Then in an instant, he swung her around to the corner of the office, and kissed her tenderly. "Heard you were in Cooper's office."

"Donald, there are windows. People can see us." Liz attempted to push him away, but not before he planted a sweet kiss on her neck. "Nobody is watching," he mumbled and held her a moment longer.

But ever the cautious Elizabeth, she pushed him away playfully but firmly, and adjusted the collar of her olive blouse. "Not at work. We talked about this."

Donald gave a broad grin, and raised his hands as to signify surrender and relent. Liz smiled in return, yet her mind was already occupied with the morning's revelations. She walked over to her desk and shuffled around some files, in an attempt to gather some thoughts. That was enough to set off alarm in Donald's mind.

"So, where's Reddington? What happened in Cooper's office?"

"Red is still in there, I believe." Liz endeavored with all might and will to sound unaffected; however, she knew that she was breaking down fast.

"Liz, what happened in Cooper's office?" Donald closed in, his brows returning to the perpetual furrow in visible concern.

"Tom has requested to see me." There was no way Liz could keep up the front.

"What? Why?"

"He said he has important information for me. Information about Reddington."

"There is no way you are going to see that bastard." Donald spoke deliberately, attempting to bridle the brewing anger and fury.

"Donald…"

"Lizzie, you will not see that man, ever."

Author's Note: OK…I'm pretty selfish. I'm bringing in Tom only because I've been itching to write him (I hate him, too, just like all of you), but he's a pretty interesting character, and needs some fanfic representation! The question is, will he wreak havoc on our favorite couple?


	9. Chapter 9

Two Years Since

Chapter 9

The heaping plateful of lasagna sat idly on the table, with its diminishing hot steam as each moment passed by untouched and unnoticed. A spotless glass of merlot also sat by in silent company, its saturated blood red hue embodying the ominous undertone of its environment. The two tall candles on the middle of the table lit brightly, as if encased in its own world and oblivious of the darkness outside of it. Its lively flicker only brought harsh attention to the lines etched on the faces of two people who sat by, silently and motionlessly. And neither of them seemed to give a damn about dinner getting cold.

Donald got up from his chair abruptly, inhaling deeply, and walked toward the kitchen sink for no reason than to get out of the air around him. Liz sat still, but kept her watchful eye on him, taking notice of every flicker of emotion that ran across his flushed face. Soon enough, Donald walked back to the table, but elected to stand across the table from her instead of sitting.

"Elizabeth, we've been talking about this for the entire week. I feel as though I have nothing more to say to you." Donald spoke deliberately and quietly, perhaps to quell the torrents of emotions underneath.

"I know." Liz replied faintly, with sadness and sorrow freely escaping without pretense.

"Liz, I love you. Doesn't that mean anything to you?" Donald sounded as though he was pleading, his deep blue eyes becoming darker and glassy.

With that, Liz got up from the chair and closed in the distance between them, now standing with both of her hands on his arms and leaning her body unto him.

"It means everything to me."

Liz planted a soft but deep kiss on Donald, which he unguardedly reciprocated. She had missed Donald's tenderness and warmth, the way he kissed her and touched her, as if in everything he was protecting her. The past week felt like there were just too fewer kisses and far too many tense arguments.

They broke apart but lingered on, with their foreheads gently touching, each relishing on the warmth and the scent of another. "Don, I love you."

Liz whispered softly in their tiny space, knowing that this was the first time she's uttered those words. Donald knew that, too. He gazed into her eyes, the blue of his own eyes now glistening and sparkling with the quiet elation of hearing the very words he's longed for. His lips broke into a wide grin as he whispered, "Good."

They held each other for a moment longer, Liz continuing to lean into Donald, allowing his strong body be her anchor, and his enduring love her strength. If the world catches on fire, she knew it would be Donald who would save her.

"Lizzie, I don't want you to go," Donald timidly broke through the silence, with the grim etches of his face returning ever so slightly. "I can't let you do this. If something happened to you…"

"Nothing is going to happen." Liz rubbed his arms to reassure him, but he wasn't convinced one bit.

"Lizzie, you don't know what's going to happen. You have no idea what that…" Donald paused, with a faint hint of anger now residing in his eyes. "You don't know what Tom is up to, what he wants from you."

"He may not want anything from me. He said he has information for me, that is all. He might just tell me something, and if it's about Reddington, I want to hear it."

"How can you say that is all? Lizzie, you of all people know there's nothing simple and upfront about Tom. He's a conman, he's conned just about everybody for a very long time."

"Donald, you don't have to tell me that. I know what he did, I know who he is." With that, Liz broke from his embrace, and took a step back. She knew Tom all too well, and all too painfully. Just the thought of living in a lie brought sharp pangs to her heart. It still affected her.

Donald regretted that he had spoken out of heat, something he was akin to do when feeling loss of control. But it wasn't that he wanted to control Liz; the love he felt for her, the depth and the intensity of it, stirred in him the desire to control situations around her. His sole desire, an urgent desire, was to protect her. But he needed to be more careful with his words, especially with the subject of Tom.

"Lizzie, I'm sorry."

Liz kept her distance, but her face softened. "No, I understand what you're trying to do. You're trying to protect me, I know, and I love you for it. I really do."

She paused for a short while, and Donald waited silently.

"Donald, you have to trust me. I can't be in your arm's length all the time, so that you can protect me. Donald, trust me that I'll be able to handle whatever that bastard throws my way." Liz closed in the distance, and laid her hands on his chest with a soft gaze into his eyes. "I can handle Tom. There's nothing new he can do to hurt me. I can handle him because I'm stronger than him."

However, Donald was not completely convinced. "I trust you, Lizzie, I trust you completely. But…I just think whatever information he has for you, it's not worth knowing. I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of having this thing dangle over your head."

"Don…"

"Maybe Reddington is right. He thinks this is an entrapment, and Tom wants to lure you in to…I don't even want to think about what he can do to you. And you could already be in danger, as we speak. I don't care if he's locked up in some high security, I know he's up to something."

Liz could visibly see the anger brewing in Donald once again, and attempted to calm him by rubbing his arms gently. But she had to say these words. "Donald, you have to let me go. I've already decided."

He exhaled deeply, but didn't look too surprised at her words. It was as if he had known it all along. "Then I'm coming with you." Donald spoke with steely determination in his dark eyes.

"No. Tom requested no FBI involvement."

"I'm not going as an FBI involvement, and I don't give a damn what he requested." Donald spoke just as resolutely as Liz, and the sharp intensity returned swiftly in the space between them.

At that moment, a strong knock on the door broke through the silent heat of the room. Liz jumped slightly at the abrupt sound, and immediately became alarmed at who might be paying her a visit at this late hour. Instinctively, Donald stepped in front of her, barring her from the door.

"Elizabeth, open the door." A voice was heard from the other side of the door. It was Reddington. "I know you're in there."

Liz and Donald looked at each other, their eyes locking to communicate what to do. Donald finally whispered, "I'm not hiding in a damn closet."

With that, Liz sauntered toward the door, and opened it just as Donald walked back to the dining table, standing with his arms crossed. Reddington soon appeared at the porch, dressed in a sharp navy coat and the ubiquitous fedora. "Hello, Lizzie. Sorry to call so late."

Liz simply opened the door wider to welcome him in. "This was an urgent matter, and unfortunately it couldn't wait."

Just as Reddington took off his fedora, his eyes spotted Donald standing by the dining table. Hardly anything truly surprises this man, the usual cool as a cucumber, but this time Reddington took on a peculiar look of bewilderment and marvel. It took him a moment before he was able to utter, "Donald, what a pleasant surprise."

"Red." Donald gave a short nod.

Reddington took notice of the untouched food on the table. "Here for dinner?"

"You can say that."

"Ah, of course. And maybe some FBI business? Why else would you be here at this hour?" Reddington quipped with a saccharine smile, purposely doing a poor job of hiding another meaning behind it. Donald thought Red's eyes twinkled like the devil, and it was annoying as hell that, of all people, it would be Reddington who would be the first to figure it out.

Red stood smiling at Donald, while the younger man simply glared back, with arms still crossed. After a moment, just as Red had enough of this smug exchange, he turned his attention onto Liz. "Lizzie, I'm not here to talk you out of it. I'm here to offer my services, and you'll be a fool not to take it."

"What are you talking about?" Donald impatiently broke in, now walking in to stand in front of Liz, as if to shield her from the devil.

Reddington took notice of this, and with a raised eye brow, murmured, "Interesting."

"Cut the crap, Reddington. What is this about?" Donald raised his voice in increasing impatience, and Liz considered putting her hand on his arm to calm him down. It was the arrogant knowing look on Reddington that dissuaded her.

"Lizzie, I know you well enough to say that by now, you've already decided to go see Tom. I have warned you many times not to do this, and I still stand by it. However, I know that there's nothing I can say to have you change your mind."

"So why are you here?" Liz finally spoke, looking squarely at Reddington.

"I'm here to offer you my services as an escort, if you will. I'm going with you, and we can take my private jet." Reddington paused to give both of them a moment to let his words sink in.

It was Donald who spoke first. "Are you crazy? Don't you realize you yourself might be the reason why she's being hauled over there? Oh, there is no way I'm sending her to the lion's den with the damn lion."

"Oh Donald, don't be dense. So Tom Keen says he has some information about me, possibly to blow my cover as a nefarious ring leader of evil. Since when did you start believing whatever that came out of his mouth? Here's what it is. Tom Keen has nothing on me, and for whatever unknown reason, he wants to see Lizzie, or at least have her go over there. All this sounds like a dangerous situation, and that is the reason I must insist on going with her."

"Well, Reddington, your offer is too late. I'm going with her." Donald did not take kindly to Red accusing him of being dense, and his level of anger was about to hit the new high.

"Donald, your presence alone might very well cause more danger to Lizzie. It would be wise to keep FBI out of this." Red spoke quickly but methodically, his voice level matching that of Donald's hot emotions.

"There is no way I'm entrusting her to you," sneered Donald.

"That is not your call, Donald. And I could imagine, you have very little idea what is good for Elizabeth." Reddington squinted his eyes, as if to challenge the aggressive younger man. Donald was more than ready for the challenge, and took a step closer to Red, emphasizing his towering height over the older man.

"Calm down, both of you!" Now, it was Liz with the raised voice. She walked forward to stand between them. "No one is going with me, because I'm going alone. And that's final."

Reddington's face softened once it focused on Liz. "Elizabeth, you have to trust me. You are not safe going alone. I'm coming to protect you."

Donald was none too pleased to hear that. "You're going to protect her? Reddington, after all this time, we still have no idea just who the hell you are. Who are you to protect her?"

For once, Reddington stood without a reply. His eyes, now soft, were upon Liz. This angered Donald that much more.

"Look at me! Answer me, Reddington. You want Lizzie to trust you? Then tell me, just who the hell are you?"

Reddington continued to stand without a sound or movement.

But Donald was not done with Reddington. He demanded once more.

"Who are you?"

. . . . .

The so-called meeting room consisted of everything in grey metal: small metal table, along with small metal chairs. Even the walls of the room reflected the grim grey, as if sun light, or anything of living, has never touched upon this place. The air was quite frigid, adding the final touch to the harsh and unpleasant atmosphere of this sterile space. Liz shivered slightly, partly due to the cold air seeping through her thin jacket, but more so due to the nerves wreaking havoc in her heart. Her hands were neatly folded on the table, but only a close observant would detect that her fingers were digging nervously into the whitened flesh of her hand. There was absolutely no turning back, she reminded herself. She had decided to do this. She is here. And she needed to do this. Plus, there were four guards visibly situated in every corner of the room. She was safe, at least.

A moment later, the door opened on the far wall, and in walked two guards escorting a tall, lean young man. He was dressed in grey wrinkled prison garb, and was handcuffed and shackled in the ankles. The guards walked him slowly and carefully, and the young man did not resist them. Soon, the young man was seated on the metal chair opposite of Liz, and as the two of them finally made eye contact, he smiled, somewhat too sweetly. It was the smile that Liz had recognized but hasn't seen in ages, it seemed. He waited until the escorting guards walked out of the room, before speaking softly.

"Hello, Lizzie. I've missed you."

. . . . .

A/N: Wanted to have Tom come out sooner, but I thought the conversation between Red and Ressler had to happen first. Plus Red makes everything more interesting anyways.

So, Tom is finally here. What will happen? And is our dear Lizzie safe?

P.S. MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR everyone! Wishing all of you a great holiday time, filled with much love, laughter, and celebration!


	10. Chapter 10

Two Years Since

Chapter 10

"What, no pleasantries? Oh, come on."

Liz hadn't moved a muscle since Tom had entered the meeting room, nor had she spoken a word. Her eye contact with the tall man in grey prison uniform was just enough acknowledgement of his presence.

"Lizzie, I haven't seen you for two years. Throw me a bone, at least, will you? I'm your husband."

"Ex-husband."

Tom nodded his head and let out a low snicker, "I thought that would get a word out of you."

His eyes had now awakened with a sudden lively twinkle, and it only confirmed in Liz's mind that every word, every movement, and even every flutter of the eye was an arsenal offered onto the enemy lines, a weapon he can use to obliterate beyond the scope of her measurement.

"You requested to see me because you have information for me. What is that information?"

"Ah, there you go again, right to business. I thought it'd be nice to catch up first. How are you, Lizzie? How's life?" Tom leaned in towards Liz, as much as the handcuffs attached to the side of the chair would allow. He winced at the inadvertent noise made from the pulling of the metal. "These damn things. The day I get used to these things is the day I die."

Tom returned his gaze upon Liz, with a cloying smile that took position in a blink of an eye. "Sorry, where were we? Ah, right, catching up on life. How's it been, Lizzie?"

Liz had enough of this, and with great control exerted to her tone of voice, succinctly and methodically stated, "If you wanted me here to catch up on life, I have better things to do with my time. Good bye, Tom."

And just as Lizzie pushed back her chair, Tom leaned back with a faint swagger, "Lizzie, you and I both know you're not going anywhere."

And that's when Tom got to her. Liz froze in her tracks, regrettably allowing a thin squinting of the eye to escape to the veneer. It did not go unnoticed by the quickness of his eyes, and his grin was laced with acute satisfaction.

Tom leaned in to her once again and took on a jovial tone, "I get it, Lizzie. You are not required to answer my questions, I get it. So, I'll help you out of this rather unfortunate awkward situation. We were married for five years, for Christ's sakes, I think I have a pretty good idea what's on your mind right now. So I'll spare you the embarrassment of you relinquishing your control. I mean, you'd have to stoop pretty low to ask me a question, right?"

Still reeling from the regret for allowing Tom to see her touched nerve, Liz sat motionless but expectant. She was going to speak only when she wanted to, and not because she was coerced. And even that, it was as if Tom could read her mind.

"Let's get one thing straight, though. Whether it is apparent to you or not, I'm in control of this conversation. But you already knew that, and you're fighting it. That's why you're afraid, you can't let go. You're afraid of the truth, the truth being that I may be the only person in your life that holds the key to many of your locked boxes."

"You think you have me all figured out, but you have no idea what is the truth." Liz broke in, no longer wanting to accommodate for his maniacal soliloquy.

"The truth is I know everything about your life, Lizzie. I know what you've been doing for the last two years in Chicago, your return to the Bureau, heck, I even know who's been keeping you warm at night these days." Tom snickered, but with the eyes that of a ravenous scavenger, "Agent Ressler, I always knew he had a thing for my wife. I should've killed him when I had the chance."

Liz was certain that the booming thud of her heart was clearly audible to Tom, and it took every ounce of her strength and control to keep the wild frenzy of her emotions from tipping over to a disastrous mess. "Kill him?"

Tom knew he hit the nail just at the right spot, and took on a grave tone. "And don't you think for one second that I won't have him killed. He is just abiding his time."

"Why will you kill him? What does that accomplish?" Liz's voice had already begun to crack, she was breaking down fast. But she couldn't let go of the pursuit. Her life depended on it.

It was then that Tom took again the jovial tone of voice. "Well, it's just people economics. Either you are useful to me, or not. Agent Ressler is not useful to me, so he's expendable. But Lizzie, take comfort in knowing that it's not because I'm some jealous ex-husband. I actually don't give a damn who's in your bed."

Every faculty of Lizzie's heart wanted to throw out all pretenses, and simply beg Tom to spare Donald's life. Perhaps she can access Tom's heart, maybe trigger the memories of the loving relationship they've once had. Perhaps Tom will have mercy on her.

"Ah, but don't worry about good ol' Ressler. He's just a tiny fish swimming with the sharks. We've got a bigger fish to fry." Tom cut in abruptly, "Or maybe I used the wrong animal idiom. I should've said we have yet to address the elephant in the room."

"Raymond Reddington."

"Bingo. What's the handsome devil up to these days?" Tom smiled with sickly ease.

"The usual. Riding on his private jet, living a life of crime. And more crime." Liz decided to use another approach with Tom, perhaps if he felt more at ease he would be more willing to offer up information. And Tom seemed to enjoy this small quip as he laughed heartily.

"Of course, living a life of crime. Lizzie, I've always enjoyed your sly sense of humor. I've actually missed it." Tom continued with a broad smile, "Did he tell you? He used to be my handler, you know."

"He told me." She lied, on instinct.

"I was his go-to guy for jobs. Red would give me assignments, and I never once failed him. I did all of his dirty business." Tom seemed to be speaking from a place of fond memory, as twisted as that was.

"You were the hired hitman."

"I took care of a lot people for him. But you already knew that, that's why I'm in here, shackled up." Tom shook his arms to purposely create loud metal clashing sounds. "I have this to thank him for. But he's out there, jetting around in the life of luxury. He is good, real good. He leaves no trails, there's nothing on him."

"So what did happen to your cozy relationship?"

"Cozy? Oh, I like that. It was quite cozy, until I turned on him. I just got hired by people who paid me more money. People who had more power. People who made Reddington look like a mere guppy."

"And who are these people?" Liz ventured out boldly, sensing she was near the truth she was seeking.

"Ah, Lizzie. Tsk, tsk, tsk. That information is not privy to you, I'm afraid. You will know only what you need to know, but here's the thing, you have no idea what you're even asking, what you're even wanting to know. There's far more out there than what your little head can wrap around."

Liz couldn't understand the sense of ominous trembling that had now settled in her heart, and suddenly she struggled to breathe properly. "What is it that you wanted to tell me?"

Tom paused to inhale deeply, not breaking his deep gaze into Liz's own sharp eyes. "Lizzie, be aware that what I'm about to tell you…" For the first time, there was fear etched in his eyes.

"What is it?"

"Lizzie, you're the missing link. You…are the missing link to all of this."

"What do you mean?"

"Has Reddington ever told you who his employer was?" Tom leaned closer to Liz, in a sudden hushed tone that alarmed her.

"He has a boss?"

"You thought Red was the big fish on top, didn't you? No, he answers to his boss, has been for the last thirty years. But nobody has ever seen this boss of his, all of his business is dealt only through Reddington. That's probably why Red has escaped death all these years, because without him, no one can communicate with his boss."

"So, who is this boss?"

Tom leaned back onto his chair, as if enumerating whether he should reply to her inquiry. However, Liz knew that Tom just couldn't help it.

"Lizzie, Red's boss is your father."

"What?"

"He's your biological father."

. . . . . .

It was quite windy when Lizzie stepped off the official Bureau plane, which had just landed on the undisclosed location in DC. She clutched onto her black coat and gingerly made it down the steps that had been pulled to the door. It was late in the evening, and the only thing she could make out was the blinking of green and blue lights along the tarmac. Looking further ahead, at the end of the tarmac, she spotted the Bureau issue black sedan waiting for her arrival.

Lizzie detected Assistant Director Cooper first, standing a few feet in front of the car. "Agent Keen, it's good to have you back."

"Thank you, sir."

Then she saw Donald standing next to the car, by the driver's side door. His eyes were firmly planted on her, but Liz could hardly return the gaze, for a fearful reason that even a fleeting connection with him may very well break the wall of her emotions, and that she will no longer have control over her tears. Liz kept her eyes glued on the ground as Cooper escorted her to the back seat of the car, just as he took the front seat with Donald driving.

No greetings or pleasantries were offered by either men, and the three rode in silence until Donald pulled the car into the black site. Liz could sense Donald glancing at her through the rear view mirror several times, but she elected to ignore him, all the while being painfully and achingly aware that he'd be filled with worry. She knew that once she saw Donald's eyes, she was liable to reach out to him, to touch him, and right there tell him how much she'd missed him and that she loves him. But Liz needed to have all this kept in and controlled, until she was in the safety of her own walls.

"Agent Keen, please come to my office for debriefing. I gather it won't take long." Cooper spoke as they filed out of the car. "And Agent Ressler, you are excused for the day."

"I was hoping to be included in the debriefing, sir." Donald stated with a hint of irritation and impatience that Liz could detect.

"No need. This is not a bureau business. Good bye, Agent Ressler." Cooper strode off without a second glance at Donald, and Liz followed along into the waiting elevator. As she turned around in the elevator, the last image she saw was Donald standing next to the car, startlingly lacking the usual confident stance, but instead a slumped figure struggling with the weight of anxiety and apprehension.

. . . . . .

As Liz turned the key to her studio, she knew it was well after midnight. The fatigue and the emotional toll had caused every inch of her body to ache, and she longed for, more than anything, to be in the familiarity of her own space. But before she could turn the knob, the door opened and she knew who would be behind it.

"Liz." This was all he said before pulling her into a tight embrace, and her tears flowed in the safety of his arms.

When they made love that night, there was no sense of desperation or abandonment, but of slow and languid movement of bodies that were seeped in careful deliberation and touch. Donald held her delicately, as if she was breakable, and he lingered in his kisses, as if she would flee when he let go. He was slow to make love to her, wanting to savor every flicker of movement and the sensuality it had elicited. Liz gave over to his control, his rhythm, and held onto him, wanting to be closer to him, so close that her heart would meld into his. She held nothing back, wholly letting him carry her to wherever he wanted. With every movement, she held onto the nape of his neck, gently caressing his soft hair in her fingers, but already seeing the sadness seep in as it was all about to end.

. . . . . .

"You can tell me what happened, when you're ready."

Donald spoke softly into the air as they laid holding each other, their bare bodies entangled underneath the cool white sheet, glistening underneath the night light escaping through the window above them. Liz stroked his chest tenderly and rested her face against his shoulder, just as Donald wrapped his arm around her smooth back and gently held onto her waist underneath the blanket.

"Tom wasn't what I expected him to be." She started just as softly, "He doesn't want to pretend anymore. He's tired, almost. He was willing to give me more than I imagined."

"What did he say to you?"

"He knows about us."

"Figures." Donald's lips lingered on her forehead, "Does that change anything?"

She lifted her face up to Donald, and gave him a tender kiss. "No."

"Should we just pack up everything and run away together? How does Costa Rica sound? I could have my gun slung to a loin cloth."

"No, of course not." They shared a quiet laughter, but Donald suspected that admist the laughter, there was a palpable sense of sadness and strain. It troubled him that Liz was withholding something from him.

"Tom also said Red was his handler."

"I figured there was a connection between the two. Bastards."

"Tom was a hired hitman until he went to work for other people, with more money and power. He said Red is nothing compared to these guys."

"Interesting. Do we know who these people are?"

"Tom wouldn't tell me." Liz focused back to her conversation with Tom, and realized something peculiar. "It felt like he was trying to protect me. As crazy as this sounds, Tom chose not to tell me for my benefit."

"How about Red? Did Tom tell you anything about him?"

. . . . . .

The morning came fast. Liz woke to the beep of the alarm clock situated at her side, and as she slammed it off, she turned to Donald who hasn't stirred one bit. A sliver of sunlight was escaping through the window, and she could make out Donald's face, peacefully sleeping without a care in the world. She inched closer to him underneath the blanket, and immediately felt his warmth permeate through her body like sensual waves. Liz gently stroked his forearm, and kissed his shoulder, lingering over his scent.

When they made love last night, what she felt for him was more than love. It was feeling of loss, of recklessness, and of the damage she had caused him. Liz looked at the man who had vowed to protect her, at all cost. But she was wrong. Absolutely and foolishly wrong. It wasn't her who needed protection, it was him. She needed to protect him. She's been so selfish in wanting to be loved by this man, and accepted it without thought and regard to what kind of world she was pulling him into. And here he was, blindly loving the woman who had delivered him to his own death.

She could leave, even right at this very moment. She could pick herself off the bed, and walk out the door, into the silent morning and never look back. She could go on living, in the memory of the love they've shared. She could even endure the thought of the pain this will cause in his heart, because over time the pain will dissipate. As long as he is alive, she could go on living. She could endure all of this, if it meant that she would've saved his life.

. . . . . .

A sharp knock on the door startled the two who were hurriedly getting ready to head out the door. Liz looked at Donald, as he decided that it'd be him who would open the door. Donald let his tie dangle on his shirt collar as he swung open the door.

"Good morning, Donald. Call Cooper, you both will be late to the office." And with that, Reddington walked into the apartment in one swift step, and placed his fedora on a nearby chair just as swiftly.

Donald closed the door with a grimace, "Bit early this morning, aren't you, Red?"

Reddington wholly ignored that comment, and looked around the apartment, for what Donald wouldn't even bother to inquire. Liz walked out of the bathroom, and eyed Red immediately.

"Elizabeth, what did Tom tell you?" Reddington spoke gravely, while seating himself on the dining table chair.

Liz walked over to Red and stood in front of him, just as Donald positioned himself behind her. "He didn't sell you out, if that's what you're wondering. He said your trail is clean."

"Well, everything he has on me is hearsay, anyway. It could be refuted even by a child."

"He said you were his handler."

"That I was, yes." Reddington replied without a flinch of an eye, and even had the audacity to smile broadly.

"Who is your employer?" Liz wasted no time. She was in no mood to play any games.

Reddington's lips quivered ever so slightly, and he saw Donald catch that. Donald's own lips twisted into a smile and demanded, "Answer the question, Red."

"Well, I'm tempted to say that Tom is full of crap, but I get the feeling he has somehow convinced you to think otherwise. The problem is this: we are both criminals, both professional liars. So it begs the question, who do you choose to believe?"

"Red, I'm going to ask you one more time, who is your boss?" Liz remained unhindered by Red's taunting of the mind. She took one step forward to him, "If you can't answer that question, get the hell out of my life, and stay the hell out."

At that, Red inhaled deeply, and with a slight squint of the eyes, responded, "What is it that you want to hear? That I've been working under a boss, this unknown, unseen man for decades? That I'm the only liaison to this man? That the only reason why I've been kept alive for so long is that without me, there is absolutely no way of getting to this man? Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Both Liz and Donald stood their ground without a sound. Liz felt as though Tom's words came alive through Red's mouth. Those exact same words, repeated by a different beast.

"It is a grand plan, isn't it? My life is basically insured because of my boss." Reddington let out a forced chuckle, but his eyes remained resolutely clear against Liz and Donald.

"So, who is he? Where do we find him?" Donald demanded as he stepped forward and stood in front of Liz.

Reddington, however, did not seem ready or willing to give a reply. He folded his hands and slowly turned his gaze upon the bearer of the inquiry.

"Damn it, Red. Answer the question. Who is your boss?"

After a moment of stillnesss, Reddington offered without a blink.

"You're looking at him."

. . . . . . .

**Author's Note: Man, I had a tough time with this one. First of all, I honestly did not expect this story to turn out to be about Red (damn him, he always makes it about himself...typical). It's funny I just re-read the first chapter, and I really thought this would be a nice short love story about Keensler. But over the course of time, it just happened naturally that their story cannot exist apart from Red because he is such an integral part of both of these characters. He is like the marrow to their bone. **

**So I really struggled with the identity of Red. I have no clue, just like all of you. I have my theories, and this story is just MY OPINION, and if I'm wrong (most likely), THIS STORY SHALL GO DOWN IN FLAMES. In fact, this idea came about during a week of the flu when I was under Nyquil-induced stupor. **

**So, hey, what are your theories about Red? Just curious…..oh, btw, Tom is not done with this story, so we'll see how he turns out :) **


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